


When We Meet Again

by orphan_account



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Gen, Past Child Abuse, Screenplay/Script Format
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-23
Updated: 2012-03-23
Packaged: 2017-11-02 10:12:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What sort of aeroplane did you want to be when you were a little boy?"</p><p> </p><p>Written for this prompt on the meme: </p><p>
  <em>Around the time when a younger Douglas is training to be a medical student, he meets a lost little boy. The kid says his brother and sister just left him on his own as a prank, and he's scared being out by himself, but he also seems to be terrified that his parent's are going to be cross with him when he gets home. </em>
</p><p> <em>Douglas has misgivings about taking the little boy home, especially when the kid so obviously lies about the reasons for the bruises on his arm, but he nonetheless takes him back safely, the little boy chatting excitably about planes - apparently he wants to be an aeroplane when he gets older - after a small amount of conversation prompting from Douglas. </em></p><p>
  <em>Years later, Douglas realises that that little boy grew up to be Martin Crieff.</em>
</p><p>http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/3282.html?thread=4317650&posted=1#cmt4451538</p>
            </blockquote>





	When We Meet Again

DOUGLAS: What sort of aeroplane did you want to be?

MARTIN: What?

DOUGLAS: When you were a little boy. Before the crushing reality set in, and you realized you would have to settle for merely being a pilot.

MARTIN: …You know, Douglas, you can make all the fun you like. I may be pathetic, but I refuse to be embarrassed by that story. 

DOUGLAS: _(surprised)_ It wasn't my intention to embarrass you.

MARTIN: …oh. Good. That's good. Because I'm not embarrassed. I was five, after all.

DOUGLAS: Of course.

MARTIN: …a Supermarine Spitfire.

DOUGLAS: Ah. _(He looks thoughtful.)_

MARTIN: What?

DOUGLAS: Nothing. _(He frowns slightly, not looking at Martin.)_ That scar on your right arm--

MARTIN: Excuse me?

DOUGLAS: When you sprained your ankle and Arthur and I were helping you transport that ghastly piano, I noticed it. Shaped like a crescent.

MARTIN: …Yes, what about it?

DOUGLAS: It looked old.

MARTIN: It is old, I had an accident when I was a boy.

DOUGLAS: Did you.

MARTIN: Yes, I did. What on earth has come over you, Douglas?

DOUGLAS: Nothing, I was just--remembering something.

MARTIN: What's that?

DOUGLAS: Your brother and sister, are they by any chance twins, about five years older than you?

MARTIN: What--yes, Simon and Caitlin are twins, how did you know that?

DOUGLAS: I--I'm sorry, Martin, but I think I barreled rather thoughtlessly into this line of questioning.

MARTIN: Douglas, while I certainly savor the sensation of being the one who gets to say this for a change, you're not making any sense. What on earth are you sorry for?

DOUGLAS: I'm not certain I should say.

MARTIN: You're bloody well going to say now.

DOUGLAS: It's rather personal.

MARTIN: Well then, it's your own fault for bringing it up.

DOUGLAS: Not personal to me. Personal to you.

MARTIN: How do you--oh. _(grimly)_ What do you think you know, then?

DOUGLAS: _(slowly)_ The story about wanting to be an aeroplane jogged my memory. Feel free to tell me this is none of my business, but the day you acquired that scar, were your elder siblings watching you? And did you by any chance become separated from them?

MARTIN: They abandoned me for a prank, if that's what you mean. How on earth did you know that? You can't have met them, can you?

DOUGLAS: …No. At least--no. _(He hesitates, while Martin darts curious sideways glances at him.)_ You'll remember my telling you that I was a medical student in my first year at university.

MARTIN: Yes, because medical students got invited to all the best parties, wasn't it?

DOUGLAS: Precisely. As it happens, I became rather chummy with a post-graduate student who worked a few hours a week at a local surgery. I'd go around there to pass the time with him, on occasion. Come to think of it, that was probably what changed my mind about pursuing medicine as a profession--seeing the dreariness of clinic work first-hand. 

MARTIN: It's not so dreary, is it? Making people well again?

DOUGLAS: …Perhaps not as dreary as meeting people whom there is little chance of making well.

MARTIN: Ah. That's--rather tender-hearted of you, Douglas.

DOUGLAS: Surprised?

MARTIN: Pleasantly. What's this got to do with Simon and Caitlin?

DOUGLAS: On my last visit to that clinic, I was hanging about in the waiting room for my friend to wrap up his shift. A little boy came in, all by himself, and sat down beside me. I was reading a periodical about aeronautics. There was a picture of a World War II fighter plane on the cover. It was, in fact--

MARTIN: _(turning to Douglas with a look of dawning comprehension)_ A Supermarine Spitfire.

DOUGLAS: …Yes.

MARTIN: Good God.

DOUGLAS: I'm rather surprised you remember that. You were very small indeed.

MARTIN: I was five. I always looked younger than I was.

DOUGLAS: …I can't say I was haunted by the memory, but it came back to me not long after my daughter was born. When you have a child of your own, you begin to see the world rather differently. The mind conjures all sorts of frighteningly melodramatic worst-case scenarios. I wondered what would happen if she were ever hurt and alone, and then suddenly I recalled that little boy with the cuts and bruises who startled like a cat when I asked if I could call his parents for him.

MARTIN: …Right.

DOUGLAS: I didn't quite grasp the significance of that at the time.

MARTIN: Yes. Well. You were hardly alone in that.

DOUGLAS: …I'm sorry, Martin. Ought I to have kept my mouth shut?

MARTIN: No. No, it's--fine, Douglas. It's, you know, it's not the sort of thing you tell people for no reason, but I don't mind you knowing.

DOUGLAS: Good, because I'm not sorry that I know. 

MARTIN: Aren't you?

DOUGLAS: …No, don't misunderstand me, Martin, I'm--I suppose there's no use saying 'I'm sorry', but you must know that I _am_. It gives me no pleasure at all to know that you endured that sort of beastliness. But I am better able to appreciate how much you have accomplished in spite of it. You are rather--admirable.

MARTIN: …Douglas, are you feeling quite well?

DOUGLAS: Now that you mention it, I do seem to have taken a rather funny turn in the last few minutes.

MARTIN: I'm sure it won't last.

DOUGLAS: God, I hope not.

MARTIN: …Do you know, you were the first person to tell me that I could be a pilot, if I wanted?

DOUGLAS: Really? Do you mean to say it was I who dashed your dreams of anthropomorphic transformation into the flying craft of your choice?

MARTIN: I was a child, Douglas, I wasn't stupid. But when I told my parents I wanted to be an airplane pilot, they just laughed at me and told me I had as much of becoming an aeroplane. You--didn't laugh at me.

DOUGLAS: …Oh.

MARTIN: _(peering at him)_ What on earth are you doing?

DOUGLAS: Nothing.

MARTIN: Did you just wipe your eye, Douglas?

DOUGLAS: Yes, well, one secret in exchange for another: I am, on very rare occasions, a sentimental clod.

MARTIN: …It's all right, I won't tell anyone.

DOUGLAS: _Thank_ you.

MARTIN: Doesn't mean I won't bring it up when we're alone.

DOUGLAS: I would expect nothing less of you. Er, Martin.

MARTIN: Yes, Douglas?

DOUGLAS: Do you still see your parents?

MARTIN: …No.

DOUGLAS: Good.

MARTIN: Good?

DOUGLAS: You fly for a living. You hardly need them weighing you down.

MARTIN: …No, I don't, do I. Anyway, it's not as though I lack for an over-bearing, paternalistic influence in my life.

DOUGLAS: Happy to be of service.

MARTIN: Aren't you just.


End file.
